Winds esker               
  
                                          
 There Was This  Place That For Two Years 
 I  Couldn'T Go  To. Regardless  How Much 
 Discussed With Others,  Or  Pointed  Out 
 On  Maps, I Could  Not Think Of It  When 
 Alone.  I Would  Often  Travel  Past The 
 Fork,  Where A  Right Turn  Would Surely 
 Take Me There, But Even  Then, Something 
              Kept Me Away.               
                                          
 When I  Finally  Got  There,  After Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,  The  Place  Was   Surreal.   An 
 Esker, Like  A  Needle-Thin Rift Out  In 
 The   Lake,  But  Ten  Meters  High  And 
 Adorned In Birch, Willow,  Bracken,  And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice  The  View To Either Side.  There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T  Recognize Them. First Off,  They 
 Were Much Too  Close, As The Lake Should 
 Stretch  For A  Hundred  Meters  More On 
 Both Sides.  But  Now  I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost  Reach Out  And  Touch Them.  And 
 Then, When  I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They  Were Of  The  Right Lake. But This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite.  Like A Pair  Of Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite,  And With No Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood  Them As Belonging Many Miles 
                  Away.                   
                                          
 I  Examined   The  Ridge,  The  Treeline 
 Above. Was  This  What You Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying  Forward,  On  The Very  Tip Of 
 The  Esker, I  Found The  Ruins Of  Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
 Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath  
 The  Moss,  And  Strange Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The Slope  Like  Dams  Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There,  I Could See  Across  The 
 Narrowed  Lake My Entire Path To Where I 
 Sat:  From The  Stairwell  Of  My House, 
 Through  The  Old Woods  Behind The Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then  Back Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy   Villas,  Over  The 
 Fields,  And Then That Right Turn At The 
                  Fork.                   
                                          
 And Then The  Stairs Up  On  The  Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This  Was Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In  A Grove,  There Were  Stairs 
 Much  Like The Ones I Currently  Sat On, 
 Old  And Worn  Down,  That  Lead  You Up 
 Onto The Esker. The  Point Of Entry. Had 
 I Insted  Opted To  Walk The Path At Its 
 Foot,  I'M  Sure  My Experience Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,  There  Were  People   In 
 Boats. I Wondered, Could  They  Even See 
 Me?  If  I  Shouted, Would They Turn  To 
         Stare Right Through Me?